The Dangerous Mr. Ryder

‘Yes, Mr Ryder?’

‘You sighed. Are you all right?’

‘I am contemplating the thought that it is dangerous to wish for things. I had been finding my life a trifle dull and wanting in diversion recently. Then Napoleon returns, Philippe is struck down, someone tries to murder Freddie and me and you leap through my bedchamber window and take me burgling. I appear to be about to enter an adventurous phase in my life.’

‘I can promise you that.’ The coach stopped again, for what must be the third time. Eva listened to Henry’s rough French accent and the response from the watchman standing under the streetlight. She drew back further into the shadows.

‘Why are we not taking the Toulon road?’ she asked as they started forward once more.

‘Because, although it is faster, it is also riskier. Support for Bonaparte is strong to the south, and it is the obvious route for us to take. Then how do we find a boat to take us to England from a French port? I am going north, up into Burgundy, and then north-east towards Brussels, which is where the king has fled. Wellington has had his headquarters there since early April. We will go from there to Ostend.’

The coach turned sharply, lurching over a rougher surface, and pulled up. ‘Excuse me, we will be on our way in a moment. Henry will sit with you for a few miles.’

After some scraping and banging at the sides of the vehicle, the coachman climbed in, doffing his hat. ‘Begging your pardon, ma’am.’

‘That is quite all right.’ This at least was easy. One’s entire life appeared to be made up on some days of holding conversations with tongue-tied citizens. ‘Have you been a coachman long, Henry?’

‘I’m a groom, ma’am. Least, that’s what I am official-like. Most of the time I’m whatever the guv’nor wants me to be, depending on what we’re about.’

Hmm, not so tongue-tied, which could be useful. ‘So sometimes you have to be a gentleman’s groom, when Mr Ryder is at home in London?’

‘Aye, ma’am. When the guv’nor’s being himself like, which isn’t often.’

‘That must be difficult for his family,’ Eva persisted, fishing as carefully as she could. ‘For his wife, for example.’ Though he had said he was not married…‘Or his parents.’

‘Would be, indeed, ma’am, if he’d a wife. As for his respected father, top-lofty old devil he was, if you’ll pardon me saying so; nothing the guv’nor did was ever right for him, so I don’t reckon he’d give a toss, even if he was alive. Which he ain’t.’

That had not got her very far. He was not married and a top-lofty father confirmed his origins were respectable. It was an odd choice of words, being himself—it implied two very different lives. And London was home. Just who was Jack Ryder?

‘We’re out the Eastern gate,’ Henry observed. ‘Another hour and we’ll be snug at the inn, ma’am. I’ll wager you’ll be glad to be settled for the night.’

‘You know where we are staying tonight, then?’

‘Why, yes, ma’am. The guv’nor doesn’t leave things to chance. All booked, right and tight on the way down, and the landlord expecting us late, so no suspicions there. It’s a nice little place used by gentlemen on hunting expeditions in the foothills, but it’s quiet now.’

Eva sank back against the squabs and fell silent. Henry was certainly not in need of setting at his ease in her presence, so, strange as it felt, she did not have to make conversation. It was curiously peaceful to realise that she had no duties, none at all, other than to survive this adventure and reach England.

‘Ma’am!’ She jerked upright, startled to find they had stopped moving and there were lights outside. ‘You’d dropped off, ma’am,’ Henry added helpfully.

‘Yes, thank you,’ Eva said repressively. Goodness knows what sort of appearance she must present with her gown crumpled, her cloak filthy and her hair all over the place. She pushed it back and pulled her hood up to shadow her face as best she could. People saw what they expected to see, and this innkeeper would not be expecting a weary traveller to be his grand duchess. She must just be careful to do nothing to attract his attention.

The door opened, Jack helped her down and the landlord came bustling out to greet them, cheerfully prepared for their arrival at this late hour.

‘Welcome, sir, welcome, madam! Come along inside, if you please.’ Eva let the familiar local patois wash over her as the horses were sent off to the stables, their luggage carried in and Henry vanished in the direction of the taproom. ‘The room is just as you ordered, sir. The bed has been aired and I am sure your wife will be comfortable.’

The man led the way up the stairs. Eva stopped dead at the bottom, the last traces of sleep banished. ‘Room? Wife? Which room are you in?’

‘Ours.’ Jack took her arm and began to climb. Without actual violence she had no option but to follow him. ‘Thank you.’ He took the branch of candles from the landlord’s hand and pushed her gently through the open door at the head of the stairs. ‘This looks excellent. Some hot water, if you will.’

Eva stood in the middle of the room and looked around. One dresser, two chairs, a rug before a cold grate, a clothes press, a screen and a bed. One bed. ‘And just where are you sleeping?’ she enquired icily. Beneath her bodice her heart was thudding like a military tattoo.

‘With you. In that bed. Why? Where else do you expect me to sleep?’

Chapter Five

‘I expect you to sleep in your own bed, in your own room.’ Her mouth had gone dry, her stomach was full of butterflies.

‘I am your bodyguard. I need to be close to you.’ He was touching the flame to the other candles in the room, his hand steady as he did so. Eva felt her i